His Constant
by LadySolitaire83
Summary: Sherlock and Molly deal with their feelings after Eurus forced them to say 'I love you' to each other. Is Sherlock ready to be romantically involved with Molly? But has Molly given up on her love for Sherlock?
1. Chapter 1

**HIS CONSTANT**

 **Chapter 1**

 **A/N: I don't know how many times I rewatched TFP, only to cry over the 'I love you' scene, while I was writing the first draft of this fic. I also read so many metas, and I tried to incorporate my favourites (a.k.a the ones that fit the relevant headcanons) into this story. I also hope this is different enough from the other fanfics about the 'I love you' scene. Hope y'all like it!**

 **I haven't written a multi-chapter fic in a while. Honestly, this was originally written as a one-shot. But my brain screamed 'Nope!' at the thought of me editing 10K words in one go (although this isn't even my longest one-shot). So I can't promise how frequently I'll update this, especially since I'm adding another chapter. But I** _ **will**_ **update this and I** _ **will**_ **finish this, no matter how long it takes. This will only have a maximum of four chapters anyway.**

 **This is also related to** _ **Chewing the Fat, Woman to Woman**_ **and** _ **Babysitting**_ **(SAW 2017, Day 6). Y'all don't have to read them first, but those works will be referenced in future chapters.**

 **Chapter Notes: I got the idea for this opening chapter from a certain Tumblr post about the 'I love you' scene. I don't have the link, but the OP was offering suggestions on how Sherlock could've gotten Molly to say the three little words without all the angst and––the most important reason for the OP, I think––without the romantic implications of the scene. The latter, especially, pissed me off, so I started writing a chat fic. But I realized partway through that the chat fic was getting too long and that it would be the perfect opening scene for my post-TFP fic.**

 **I know John isn't the most popular or most loved character in the sensible part of the Sherlock fandom right now. But I wanted an outside perspective to the 'I love you' scene. His face right before Molly whispered it back is another reason.**

 **Molly will pop up in later chapters. So stay tuned!**

 **I own nothing. Everything belongs to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, BBC, Steven Moffat, and Mark Gatiss. If I owned Sherlock and Molly Hooper, then there would be a lot more Sherlolly in the show. All mistakes are mine. Reviews and constructive criticism are welcome.**

* * *

Shivering, John clutched the grey blanket more tightly to himself and looked round. The forensic experts were still processing the well, taking photographs and gathering whatever minuscule evidence that nature and a few decades had not erased. Police officers milled about the grounds and occasionally stared at his famous friend. While on the phone, Lestrade briefly spoke to Sgt Liu as he carefully handed the evidence bags containing Victor Trevor's remains to her. _At least Victor's family will be able to bury something 30 years later_ , he thought, shaking his head and sighing.

His gaze landed on Sherlock, who was still standing next to him and staring into space. He wondered what his friend was thinking and feeling now that the entire ordeal was over and Eurus was on her way back to Sherrinford. _God, he must be such a mess right now_. He could only imagine the long-term, as well as the short-term, effects of Eurus's twisted experiment on him. While Sherlock had had a few days to process the fact that he had a younger sister, he might take longer to digest what she had done to his childhood best friend. _All that new––or, more accurately, newly dug up––information must be wreaking havoc in his Mind Palace and his emotions._ His heart ached for his friend and the rest of his family. _Lord knows how Mycroft and their parents would deal with this._ His brows furrowed in concern as he realised that Sherlock might have days, weeks, or even months of danger nights. _We'd need to keep an eye on him to make sure he doesn't relapse again or smash another coffin with his bare hands._

That thought reminded him of the events in the coffin room. Glancing at the silent man beside him, he thought back to how Sherlock, who was calm for most of the experiment, seemed to panic during the phone call with Molly. He knew how well Sherlock could suppress his emotions, but the man he used to call a machine could barely hide his desperation when he pleaded with her to say those three little words. _He told Irene Adler once that he'd never begged for mercy in his life. Yet he begged Molly Hooper to say, 'I love you,' six times! Six fucking times!_ Also, the way Sherlock said those words for the second time––which was _completely_ unnecessary, in his opinion––was unlike anything he had ever heard him say, not even when his thing with Irene Adler started or when he dated Janine to gain access to Magnussen's office. He narrowed his eyes as he remembered how frantic Sherlock sounded when the seconds ticked by and Molly had not said it back. _God, I thought we were going to watch her blow up._ Recalling how enraged, frustrated, and ferocious Sherlock looked as he smashed the coffin with his bare hands, John wondered what he would have done if there really were explosives in her flat and she failed to say the words back before time ran out. _Would he be as forgiving of Eurus as he is now if Molly had died?_

His chest ached, and he cursed the universe for allowing Sherlock to save Molly while not giving him a chance to save the woman he loved. _And betrayed_ , he reminded himself. He could not help but wish for a do-over and a chance to rectify his mistakes.

He immediately felt ashamed of his envious thoughts and chastised himself for his selfishness. _I know it's unfair, but it is what it is._ All he could do now was forgive himself and remind himself to do better next time. He took another glance at Sherlock and decided that he would help him navigate his relationship with Molly. _Perhaps I could help explain to Molly exactly what went down in the coffin room. But only if she asked me to_ , he amended when the image of Sherlock punching him in the face crossed his mind.

John cleared his throat, breaking the silence that reigned over both of them. "You know you could've easily gotten Molly to say those words _without_ letting your sister force you into saying them, don't you?"

Sherlock stiffened for a moment before slowly turning to him, his eyebrows knitted together in confusion. "Sorry?"

"The 'I love you' thing," he clarified.

Despite his incredibly difficult day, he sighed irritably and rolled his eyes. "And how could I have done it differently?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "Oh, I don't know. Perhaps you could have just told her that you can't really understand human emotions and asked her what regular people say to their family members or romantic partners or friends."

"She'd have immediately seen through the bullshit," he rejoined.

He rolled his eyes and sighed in exasperation. "Or you could have said that you were composing or recording something for Rosie for her first birthday and wanted her to say something brief to your goddaughter. She would've said those words without both of you being forced to say, 'I love you,' and without Molly having her heart broken into a million pieces when the call abruptly ended. I know, I know," he added when his friend opened his mouth to defend himself, " _you_ didn't end the call; Eurus did. But Molly doesn't know that. Anyhow, quite frankly, anything else would've been less painful for both of you, especially for her."

"You're right, John. But, while that would've been easier for the two of us," Sherlock replied with a deep sigh, "that's not quite what Eurus wanted. When she was posing as your therapist, she heard you say that Molly would be last person I'd think of, which was belied by the fact that _I_ asked her to come to your therapist's address two weeks prior to your appointment. I'd have to ask Eurus to confirm, but it's also possible that Moriarty told her about Molly during those five minutes of unsupervised conversation between them five years ago. And if she'd been watching Molly's flat, she'd know that I paid her a visit some nights ago."

John's eyes widened at what he heard. He stared at Sherlock as if willing him to elaborate.

"The incident at the therapist's house showed Eurus how much I trust Molly with my life," he continued. "And, unlike Moriarty and every other enemy I've faced and beaten, she saw how much Molly Hooper means to me. Which, I believe, helped her to correctly anticipate what Molly would do if I asked her to say those three little words."

His mind was racing. He rewound his best friend's words as best as he could. He cast his mind back to the first time he witnessed Sherlock and Molly together and tried to recall all their subsequent interactions up to the events in the coffin room. But he was too exhausted from the day's events, and tonight he wished that he had his late wife's observational skills and extraordinary memory.

 _As if on cue, Mary materialised in front of him. She gave him a kiss on the cheek before sauntering towards the police van parked a short distance from where they were standing. She turned her head towards him once she reached it and grinned at him._

' _What have I missed?' he asked his Mary, who was now sitting cross-legged on the roof of the police van. 'How the hell did I not notice that he's fallen in love with Molly Hooper? And how the fuck did Eurus know about his feelings for Molly and_ I _didn't, when I've spent more time with him in the last several years than his sister? And what_ exactly _did he mean when he said that he paid her a visit some nights ago?'_

 _His imaginary Mary shrugged. 'That's what you get for being too focused on the dominatrix.' She waggled her eyebrows and laughed. 'Don't worry about what you've missed. All that matters is that he loves her and she loves him.' She gave him a mischievous wink before vanishing._

He quietly groaned in annoyance. He glanced at his friend, who was staring at him with a raised eyebrow. "Sorry. Go on."

"As you know, John, the dead don't usually choose what's inscribed on their coffin; it's their closest survivor that would write terms of endearment or something equally affectionate. When Mary died, you chose 'Mary Elizabeth Watson'––which is the standard nameplate for everyone else but is meaningful to those of us that knew about her past or heard her final words––for her coffin and saved the truly sentimental stuff for her gravestone. So, having deduced how Molly's death would affect me, Eurus had the words 'I love you' inscribed on the coffin that she would've chosen for herself."

He hummed as he considered the last part. "Well, do you?"

Sherlock shuffled his feet. "Do I what?"

"Do you love her? I mean, for real? Because that second 'I love you' sounded really convincing. But I also know that you're a good actor. So, if you were only acting and you didn't actually mean it, I will have to punch you in the fucking face."

"Always so violent," he muttered. With a small smile on his face, he turned to face him. "Do you really think that Molly Hooper would say it back like she did if it didn't ring true to her?" He faced forward again. "Cast your mind back to that day that Mrs Hudson crashed your therapy session with me handcuffed in the boot of her car. Recall your own words to me right before Molly rang the doorbell, as well as what you told me when we were planning to frighten the truth out of my brother, and you'll get your answer."

Stunned, John did as he suggested. ' _I need the one person who––unlike me––learned to see through your bullshit long ago.'_ He swallowed as he recalled what he told Mycroft. ' _Well, someone convinced him that you wouldn't tell the truth unless you were actually wetting yourself.'_

"Oh," he eventually uttered. "Right."

"Yep," he replied, popping the 'p' like he usually did. He took a deep breath. "Anyway, Eurus had anticipated that, by the third task, I'd be too emotionally compromised from meeting my long-forgotten sister and from being indirectly or directly, depending on one's perspective, responsible for those senseless deaths. Threatening Molly's life would compromise me even more and, in turn, would prevent me from thinking properly and from choosing the least painful way to get her to say those words before the remaining time ran out. So, while anything else would've been less harrowing for both of us, simply asking her to say those words was the only way I could think of to save her life as quickly as possible."

He nodded in understanding. "So what are you going to do now?"

He sighed and pursed his lips together. "I am going to text Molly the moment I get my phone back. Or perhaps I should phone her instead. I imagine the phone call earlier didn't improve her bad day one bit, and I can't just drop by without a heads-up. Either way, I hope she'd be willing to talk to me or see me. I need to explain everything to her in person. I can't lose her now after I…" He trailed off before taking a deep breath.

"What if she doesn't want to see you or talk to you?"

He shut his eyes as if the very thought pained him. "I'll completely understand, but I'll beg her to listen to me anyway. I'll back off, though, if she still refuses. At least it'll give me enough time to deal with the aftermath of Eurus's experiment, such as informing our parents that their only daughter is alive, getting 221B repaired, and rearranging my Mind Palace and sorting out some… things. So if Molly says she needs time and space, then I'll give it to her." He swallowed before speaking in a quiet voice. "It's the least I can do after today."

He reached up to squeeze his friend's shoulder. "Good luck, mate. You're probably gonna need it."

Sherlock gave him a wan smile. "Thanks… mate." He grimaced a bit, making John laugh as he lowered his hand.

Lestrade joined them. "Ready to go, boys?"

Sherlock held out his trembling hand. "Yes. First, may I have my phone back?"

"Of course." He removed an iPhone from his coat pocket and laid it on Sherlock's open palm. "Molly texted you, by the way. Don't worry; I didn't read her message. I just saw her name in your notifications." He turned and began walking towards his car.

"Thanks," mumbled Sherlock, his jaw clenching and his eyes downcast. His fingers closed around his phone before he shoved his hands into his coat pocket. He exchanged a glance with John as they followed their friend.

"Where to?" Lestrade asked while the three of them were buckling up.

"Uh, home for me," answered John from the front passenger seat. "I need to hold Rosie after all this shit." He shut his eyes and lay back in his seat, wishing that Lestrade had brought a change of clothes.

"And you, Sherlock? Shall I drop you off at Baker Street?"

"No. I need to talk to Molly."

"I don't think she'd appreciate you dropping by her flat at this time of night." Lestrade chuckled softly and paused, likely to allow him to crack a snarky answer. "Sherlock?"

After a few more moments of silence from the back seat, John opened his eyes and turned towards Sherlock, who was reading something on his phone. _It's Molly's text, isn't it?_ "What's wrong?"

He looked up and flashed them a tiny smile. "Nothing's wrong. Just a slight change in our itinerary: please drop me off at Baker Street instead." He sniffled and put his mobile back in his coat pocket.

"Are you sure? You shouldn't be alone right now. Mrs Hudson is still with her sister, and your flat is still a mess. And if you can't sleep at Molly's, then you need to stay with either Lestrade, me and Rosie, or Mycroft."

He shook his head. "I'm _fine_. Don't worry about me. I can handle the ruins of my sitting room. I just want to sleep in my own bed tonight."

"Sherlock." John waited for his best friend to meet his firm gaze and to give him his full attention before continuing. "I think Mary would want you to sleep in our spare room tonight."

He narrowed his eyes at his friends before heaving a heavy sigh and rolling his eyes. "Fine. But may we swing by Baker Street anyway? I need fresh clothes." He was already staring out the window.

Lestrade nodded. "All right then. Either of you hungry?" he asked as he started the car. "I can get us some fast food or something."

He glanced behind him, but his friend had closed his eyes and seemed to be sleeping. _Or he's probably just in his Mind Palace._ "I don't know about Sherlock, but I'm not really hungry. My neighbour did cook some lasagne for me and Rosie. I can just heat that up later while we have a drink," he suggested. "Lord knows I need one."

"Excellent. Feel free to take a nap. We have a couple of hours until we reach London anyway."

"Thanks." John resumed his position but kept his eyes open. He did not take his gaze off the ruins of the Holmeses' ancestral home as they drove away, thankful that he did not meet his end there.

* * *

 _Any guesses on what Molly's text says?_

 _So what do you think? Hate it? Like it? Love it?_


	2. Chapter 2

**HIS CONSTANT**

 **Chapter 2**

 **A/N: I'm so sorry for the long wait! My brain hadn't been cooperating with my desire to finish the remaining chapters. But I immediately started working on the final draft for Chapter 2 after I finished the first draft for Chapter 3, and that was only three weeks ago. (I also took a week to work on a Jate fic.) So progress! I hope the length makes up for the long wait!**

 **Anyhoo, I appreciate all the comments on the first chapter, especially the theories on what Molly texted Sherlock. I hope y'all like what she actually sent. :)**

 **I hope I also adequately addressed a guest reviewer's question regarding the patience grenade's effect on Sherlock's flat. (Please refer to the endnotes for further explanation.)**

 **Now may be a good time to read (or reread)** _ **Babysitting**_ **. Which means there will be references to sex, although they're not graphic.**

 **I also wrote a bunch of swear words in this chapter, so fair warning to anyone that's uncomfortable with swearing. There's also mention of past Adlock here, as well as other pairings I like.**

* * *

 _ **I'm taking a short leave of absence. Please don't seek me out. I need time to think. We'll talk when I return.**_ **– xxxMolly**

Sherlock sighed and lifted his eyes to his bedroom ceiling. It had been two weeks since Molly left London, and he had stopped denying (to himself, at least) that he missed her. He had gotten so used to her presence––her comforting scent, her warm and kind brown eyes, her cheerful smile, her creamy skin, her morbid sense of humour, her charming laugh, her clever and astute observations, her above-average intelligence, her quiet strength, her enormous courage––that his heart ached every time her absence was noted. He missed her so terribly that he wished he could take a case outside London, just so he could 'accidentally' bump into her. _But she asked for time and space, and I will give her what she needs_ , he thought.

So, in the meantime, he had been dealing with the aftermath of his sister's experiment. First, he thought he had prepared himself for their parents' initial shock and subsequent anger after Mycroft told them the truth about Eurus. But watching their mother castigate his brother while their father held his tongue had prompted him to defend the sibling that had always tried to protect him. Which was also why he opted to stay in his office after the meeting with their parents and talked Mycroft into sharing a much-deserved bottle of Scotch.

He had also visited Eurus a few times at Sherrinford, talking at her or playing the violin to get her to talk to him. He had yet to succeed, but he remained optimistic that she would get up from her bench soon and scold him for playing poorly. He had also started composing something; and perhaps, in a few months or so, the two of them could play this piece for their parents and brother.

Repairs at Baker Street had also commenced. After spending a sleepless night in the Watsons' spare room, he had come back to 221B with John to clean up the debris and to see what could be salvaged. To his surprise, the grenade only utterly destroyed the windows and some pieces of furniture. It also damaged his violin (which was repaired sooner than he expected, thanks to Mycroft) and Billy (which he could not save) and singed everything else. There was partial damage to the kitchen, while the corridor and doors leading to the bathroom and his bedroom were slightly scorched. _Thank goodness for 'walls of reasonable strength'._

Mrs Hudson's flat was also largely unharmed––thanks, according to John and Lestrade, to the 'enchanted' rug, which earned them an eye-roll and a mild scoff. But the blast had frightened her so much that she decided to stay with her sister for at least another two weeks. She did, however, accept Mycroft's offer to shoulder the costs of the renovations and appointed John to oversee the project on her behalf.

Now that his family had started to heal from over three decades of emotional and psychological trauma, heartbreaking separation, and devastating secrets and now that his home's restoration had begun, he could finally deal with his feelings for Molly Hooper.

He had gone to Molly's house a couple of days after she left to remove the cameras that his sister installed and to see if he could deduce her whereabouts. He was not going to follow her, but he still wanted to know exactly where she went. So he had searched her house for discarded printouts of a train or plane e-ticket. But after looking through every paper product in every room in her home, he had found nothing. He also searched for her laptop and tablet to check her browser history, but they were both gone. _She'd want to think, sleep, or both, so she'd take the train_ , he had thought while munching on a slice of leftover pizza margherita. _She must have opted for an e-ticket on the mobile app or on a PDF when she booked her trip._

He was about to give up when his gaze landed on the recess in the kitchen cabinets where she stored her cookbooks. Scanning the titles, he noticed a brand-new copy of _The Breast Cancer Prevention Cookbook_. _How the hell did I miss this?_ He quickly leafed through the book and, upon reaching the end, found annotated excerpts of latest studies on breast cancer as well as information on the leading cancer care centre in Glasgow. _Her mother lives there with her stepfather._ After a quick search in his Mind Palace, he retrieved a recent conversation between her and Meena that he had overheard: her mother had found a lump in her breast that could be cancerous. _Ah, of course. Most people would simply accept that she needed to be with her mother if anyone asked why she took off for at least two weeks._ He then made a mental note to confirm with Mycroft that she was indeed in Glasgow.

While he cleaned up after himself and deposited the surveillance cameras in a box he had found in Molly's study, he had texted Mike Stamford to ask him how long she would be in Glasgow. His heart had sunk when the doctor replied that he had granted her three weeks off. When Stamford added that Molly might need more time off, he had felt as if an icy fist closed around his heart and squeezed it tightly. But, since Stamford did not seem to know anything other than her need to be with her mother, he did not press further.

Back in Sherlock's bedroom, he read her text again. In the two weeks since she sent him the message, he had tried writing something back, such as 'OK' or 'I meant it'. But he ultimately deleted his poor attempts at a reply. _She'll likely ignore any texts from me anyway._ Many times, he had thought of sending her photos and videos of Rosie, but he usually ended up sending them to their group chat (which Mary had dubbed 'The Baker Street Bunch') instead. He never expected her to say anything directly to him, but he was relieved to see that she still interacted with the photos and videos of their goddaughter. _I wish she'd come home soon though_ , he thought with a deep sigh. _Rosie misses her too._

He reread the text one more time and, resisting the urge to text her anything that would make her think he was manipulating her, he set his phone down on his bed. Shutting his eyes, he steepled his fingers under his chin and entered his Mind Palace.

* * *

Sherlock stood before a shiny new door marked 'Coffin' in his Mind Palace. He exhaled deeply as he entered the room, his gaze immediately sliding towards the object in the middle. Even though he had been in this room before, his heart still ached as he stared at the exact replica of the coffin that Eurus had used to torture him. The lid rested against the opposite wall, the three words inscribed on the steel plate staring at him this time. He walked towards the coffin, only releasing a relieved sigh upon finding it empty. The television screen on the wall next to the door still showed Molly making tea in her kitchen and ignoring his call on a loop. He smiled as he glanced at the door, which was marked 'East Wind,' on the adjacent wall. Nodding at it as if he was saying hello, he then turned towards the door on the wall opposite Eurus's and walked towards it. He brushed his fingers across the platinum plate inscribed with 'Molly Hooper' before turning the knob.

He grinned upon entering Molly's bedroom. His Mind Palace's version of his pathologist sat on her bed, while Toby dozed by her feet. She was wearing spectacles and seemed engrossed in her book, but she looked up and smiled back when he advanced towards her. He scratched Toby's ears on his way to kiss her on the cheek, which made her smile. He sat next to her and glanced at the cover of her book.

" _Jane Eyre_ again?"

She shrugged as she turned the page. "Well, it's only my favourite book. Plus I feel a lot like Jane right now." She let out a little laugh. "Only the Bertha Mason in my version is your previously-forgotten psychotic sister, not your secret wife. No offence," she added as an afterthought.

He chuckled. "Oh, none taken. But the real you doesn't even know about her yet." He gave a soft gasp when she cocked an eyebrow. "Oh. Was it John?"

She nodded. "We've been texting. No, no, not like with Eurus-disguised-as-the-bus-lady-he'd-been-cheating-with," she clarified when he let out a low growl. "But when John gets shifty after receiving or sending a text around you, it's with me. I mean, we're texting each other. About you a-and the Sherrinford thing." She worried her bottom lip as she glanced at him. "Honestly, though, if Mary were alive, I'd be texting her about the whole 'I love you' thing. But," she paused as she shrugged her shoulders, "John's much better when it comes to providing an objective side of the events than you are."

"Right. Because he was there and knows exactly how it feels to lose the woman he loves."

"Exactly, even though my life wasn't in real danger."

"And, after the lecture he gave me on my birthday—I told you about that, didn't I?—he'd want to make sure that I don't lose you completely after that phone call."

"Especially now that you've just realised that you _do_ love me. And not just as a friend either. I guess I should visit your sister to thank her, eh?"

His face scrunched up as he considered it. "Perhaps in six months or so?"

She laughed. "All right. Anyway, it's all new, and it's different from how you feel about Irene Adler. And you're terrified that you won't know how to be in a romantic relationship––a real one––and that you'll fuck it up and make me stop loving you. Which is totally understandable, but still completely bollocks, considering I've seen you at your worst and I still love you."

"So why do you need time to think then? John himself knows you can see through my bullshit. And I saw you on the screen; you looked at your phone after I said it the second time. You _knew_ that I truly meant it. So why?"

Molly sighed and closed her book, using a skulls-and-honeybees bookmark to mark her place. She set her book on the bedside table before facing him. "Because you're not the only one who needs to process their feelings, Sherlock. My God, I've loved you for _so long_ , but I _never_ thought that you'd _actually_ love me back! Then we slept together, and since then I've been wondering if it was just comfort sex, because we were both grieving Mary. I think I know you well enough by now to know that you don't have sex with _just_ anybody. So I don't want to assume anything, but I also know that you're not exactly the type to talk about feelings. But I don't know how to bring it up––or if I _should_ _even_ bring it up––because I don't want to lose your friendship _and_ the best sex I've had in years." She blushed, which made him smirk. Rolling her eyes at his reaction, she took a deep breath and reached for his hand. "I know you're not very good with emotions. But don't you, intellectually at least, realise that it can be confusing for me? Because—"

"Because you've been trying to be OK with just the sexual relationship, but you really want more, don't you?"

She nodded and let go of his hand. "Then you phoned me while I was having a really awful day and asked me to say those three little words without telling me why." She raised her hands when he began to protest. "I know, I know. Eurus wouldn't let you say that my life was in danger—well, not really, as it turned out—but that I needed to say those words anyway. Then y-you…" She trailed off as her eyes began to well up with tears.

He reached for her hand this time and kissed it. "Then I just _had_ to say it the second time and _mean it_ ," he finished for her.

"Why did you? I mean, why did you _have_ to repeat it?"

He took a deep breath and held her palm to his chest, his heartbeat quickening at her touch. "Because I _do_ love you, Molly Hooper. I _truly_ , _deeply_ love you _,_ " he said emphatically. "And I wouldn't have realised it if you hadn't demanded that I say those words first."

"I suppose that's exactly what Eurus wanted?"

"Yes. That phone call was all about forcing me to admit that I love you and that your death would destroy me." He briefly chuckled. "All for emotional context," he added with a shake of his head. "I'm sorry, Molly."

She knitted her eyebrows together. "For what?" The fear in her eyes made his chest tighten.

"I-I know I should've handled it better. John pointed it out after he was rescued from the well, and I agree with him. I could've chosen an easier way to make you say those words. But the _mere thought_ of losing you at the hands of _my own sister_ just… clouded my judgement and caused you pain in the process." His emotions were starting to overwhelm him, so he shut his eyes and took several deep breaths.

"You know you're safe with me, right?" she whispered as she rested her forehead against his and touched the side of his neck with her free hand. She then brought their joined hands to her lips before pressing them to her chest. "You can be vulnerable and emotional with me, and I'll be here to provide whatever you need," she said, her voice breaking, evoking the memory of that night in the path lab when he asked for her help in faking his death.

He nodded and then exhaled as he opened his eyes. "I-I'm not apologising for saying that I love you, because I do. But I just wish… I just wish my sister didn't have to force it out of us."

She smiled at him through her own tears. "It's OK, Sherlock. I completely understand."

His free hand rose to wipe her tears away. He smiled when she leant towards his touch.

Pulling away, she wiped her nose with the heel of her free hand and shrugged. "Well, on the bright side, it's out in the open. We can't unsay it even if we wanted to."

"I would've preferred to say it for the first time in a less emotionally taxing way and without my witnessing five people lose their lives though."

"True. I prefer hearing them and saying them for the first time while we're, I don't know, making love or performing an experiment on kidneys or something. But at least it's dramatic and unique. And you do _love_ to be dramatic," she replied with a cheeky wink.

He laughed. "Touché."

She disentangled their fingers and placed her hands on his cheeks. "Unfortunately, I still need a bit more time to deal with… other stuff, so—"

"Do you mean your mother?" He grimaced when she gave him a mildly disapproving look. "Sorry."

"Yes. Amongst others, anyway. And I can't do that while you're in my room. So you need to go." She smiled tenderly as her thumbs caressed his cheekbones. "Someone else wants to talk to you."

"Right," he replied with a nod. He leant forward and brushed his lips against hers. "I'll see you later, Molly."

"Laters, Sherlock." She dropped her hands and picked up her book again.

He rose from the bed and scratched Toby's ears on his way out.

* * *

Exiting through another door, he returned to the corridor and beamed at the woman standing a few feet away from him. "Come to tease me about Molly, Mary?" he asked as he walked towards her.

She grinned back at him. "Why the fuck not? Just because I'm dead doesn't mean I can't tease you about your _feelings_ —which you'd told me before were only platonic—for _Molly fucking Hooper_." She winked. "Do remember to tell the real Molly everything you told her Mind Palace version, yeah, Sherlock?"

"I plan to, Mrs Watson." He seized her face and kissed her on her forehead. "I've missed your fun, loving way of calling me out on my bullshit." He released her, and they began walking along the corridor.

"So how are we doing after that entire ordeal with your sister?" Mary gently asked.

He took a deep breath. "Mummy is still freezing out Mycroft for lying about Eurus's death decades ago, but Father is sympathetic. Mycroft is blaming himself for the deaths that Eurus caused, and not just for that day's casualties either. According to Anthea, Lady Smallwood now spends much of her free time having drinks at his estate to help him deal with all that." He shuddered in revulsion. "You're clever enough to figure out if that's literal or a euphemism, so don't bother asking, Mary," he added, to her amusement. "Eurus is back in her cell, but she's not talking to anyone about anything. Mycroft said she hasn't even played her violin since he re-secured Sherrinford. Let's see if I can get her to start playing again next weekend."

"And you?"

He shrugged. "I'm fine. My sitting room is a right mess right now, but I can work amongst the wreckage. Thank God Eurus tinkered with that patience grenade so it only really destroyed the windows and some pieces of furniture. The repairs are coming along nicely, by the way. I'm taking cases, even the barely fours I get from Twitter and emails, just to keep my mind occupied. Although I had to decline an eight in Glasgow, since Molly fled there right after the phone call and I'm respecting her request for space and time away from me. Lastly, I'm clean, though everyone is still bugging me about going to rehab."

"You really should listen to everyone," she counselled with a serious nod.

He rolled his eyes. "Unnecessary. I don't think there'd be another reason, whether it's a case or an even more traumatic event, for me to start using again, at least in a long while. And even if there's a case that requires using drugs, I've already promised Molly that I won't actually kill myself."

Mary hummed in thought as she leant back against the wall next to a door marked 'Watsons'. "Hypothetical question: What if Eurus really had explosives in Molly's house and she didn't say, 'I love you,' back in time? If Molly had died, would you grieve by turning to drugs?"

Opening the door, he frowned at Mary. "Way to ruin our fun." He stepped aside and gestured towards the doorway.

She chuckled as she entered the Watsons' front room. "Just… humour me." She sat on the sofa and poured herself tea from the steaming teapot on the coffee table.

"I honestly don't know," he replied with a sigh as he sat down next to her. "For one thing, she'd probably kick my arse from beyond the grave if I did."

"And I would join her," she quipped.

He rolled his eyes. "Ugh. My Mind Palace would then be unbearable." He poured himself a cup of tea. "Which leads me to another point: I'm not sure I'd be able to survive without her."

She good-naturedly rolled her eyes. "Overdramatic much? John has survived so far without me, with a hell of a lot of help from Molly and Mrs Hudson. Actually, Greg too. As well as our other friends and co-workers. Not to mention our daughter," she pointed out.

"Yeah, but he doesn't have a history with heroin, cocaine, and other fun narcotics."

"Please. As you know, that man loves his alcohol," she retorted. "I believe he's a functional alcoholic, and my death unsurprisingly made it worse. He also suffers from PTSD, despite what Mycroft told him at the start of your friendship."

"Fair point," he conceded. "He was also feeling guilty for cheating on you and regret for wasting all his chances to confess his mistake to you. I wouldn't do that to Molly."

She folded her arms across her chest and raised her eyebrow. "What about Irene Adler? Haven't you been texting her?"

"That was an occasional thing," he clarified. "And that was before Molly and I started sleeping together. She has also been seeing a woman, who sounds a hell of a lot like our friend Janine, and apparently they're having a lot of fun." He sent the delighted Mary a playful wink before he sobered. "Irene Adler and I can never have the relationship that I need, the one that you and John had."

Mary nodded. "So it was just sex then?"

"Hmmm, I wouldn't say that. We do have a connection other than the physical. But she doesn't exactly inspire me to be a better man."

"And Molly does?"

He nodded before chuckling quietly. "Did I ever tell you how Molly and I met?"

"You almost gave her a heart attack during her first week at Barts, because you were observing the postmortem she was performing a little too closely and a little too eagerly. Apparently, her masterful wielding of the scalpel and her kind words to the cadaver she was cutting up fascinated you. How adorable she looked in her nerdy glasses later in her office might have added to her allure too." She waggled her eyebrows and giggled.

"Thankfully, Lestrade arrived to introduce me to Molly," he reminisced with a short laugh. "I could tell she was already taken with me, but she still tried to be professional and firm when she laid out the ground rules in accessing the morgue and the lab, until—"

"Until you deduced everything about her."

He laughed. "Well, yes. But she got more attracted to me as I spoke. She's clearly had a thing for my voice from the beginning." He smirked, and his cheeks grew warm.

"Which you, of course, used to your advantage," she said with a wide grin on her face.

He hung his head in shame. "Yes, I know. To be honest, though, she's the best pathologist at Barts, and probably in all of London. Her above-average intellect can keep up with mine, and her jokes _actually_ make me laugh sometimes." He glanced at Mary, whose eyebrow was raised, and swallowed. "Fine. _Most_ of the time," he amended with a sigh. "She may have been attracted to me, but she still made sure I cleaned up after myself when I used her lab in the beginning. She's accommodating and perceptive, so it only took us a few months to find our groove, so to speak. She's always been a marvellous colleague and, although it took me a while to consider her one, an exceptional friend. Even if she weren't into me, I would still work with her."

She nodded as she processed his words. "And how did you feel about the people she's dated?"

"I honestly didn't mind them at first. But, later, it started to irritate me when she'd go out for lunch or dinner with them instead of helping me out in the morgue or the lab. And I've always found them wanting; there's always something I deduced that I know would make her rethink their relationship." He pursed his lips before taking a deep breath. "I could never stop myself from telling her the worst things I deduced about those other men. At first, I thought it was just… the way I was wired. Then, I thought it was because I'm most comfortable working with her and I'd rather not deal with her less impressive and less competent colleagues."

"Could it be that you were also jealous of them?"

"Possibly," he replied with a shrug.

She took a sip of her tea. "Speaking of jealousy… John told me about one fateful Christmas party at Baker Street. He thinks your frustration with the Irene Adler case, or the Woman herself, caused your extreme reaction. I'm thinking, though he disagrees, that it may have been caused by something else. So… were you also jealous, subconsciously or unconsciously, of whomever you thought she was dressing up for?"

"Back then, I didn't think so. Mycroft certainly did, but I quickly shut him down. But now?" He shrugged. "Yeah, probably." He shook his head and sighed. "When she chastised me without even raising her voice, I suddenly felt incredibly guilty. And I realised for the first time in a very long time that I _must_ do better. John can't even evoke that feeling in me at times. So I apologised and kissed her on the cheek as a poor attempt at making amends. Then, of course, Miss Adler's text intruded on the moment."

"What did she give you that Christmas? Or did you never open her present?"

"It was a black wool and cashmere scarf. I used it a lot to keep me warm while I was dismantling Moriarty's network. It's actually one of my few possessions that survived that mission. I wear it sometimes…" He cleared his throat. "Usually around Molly." He turned to Mary. "I did give her a present a week after that Christmas party, after I found out that Irene Adler was alive." He shrugged. "Molly seemed to like the 18-carat white gold necklace with pavé sapphires that I got her."

Mary's jaw dropped and her eyes widened. "She stood up to you after you publicly humiliated her, so you try to make amends by kissing her on the cheek _and_ buying her jewellery?!" She threw her head back in her mirth. "Holy shit, Sherlock!"

"W-well, I was a massive arsehole to her that night. If I'm being completely honest, I've been an arsehole to her for most of our friendship. It was the least I could do!"

"An 18-carat white gold necklace though? It's a bit excessive, isn't it?"

"I don't see a problem with the necklace! The blue sapphires bring out her eyes. Quite honestly, blue looks magnificent on her."

"I bet it does," she said as she waggled her eyebrows and winked. "How did you give her the present? God, you just handed it to her without saying a word, didn't you?"

"Of course not. I left it on the breakfast bar in her kitchen. I did write a note and I stuck it under the box. Hours later, she texted me to ask why I gave her something so extravagant. I told her that I still felt awful for being a dick to her that Christmas, and she thanked me in the end. We haven't spoken about it since."

She let out a gasp. "Wait… I've _seen_ that necklace! I brought Rosie over to her flat, and I helped her choose an outfit for the christening. When I asked her, she said it was just a gift, but she didn't say who gave it to her. Oh, my God!" She laughed. "Has she worn it since?"

"No, I don't think so. She rarely goes to fancy events, and I doubt she'd wear the necklace to her dates. So I'm not surprised that it doesn't look even slightly worn."

"Of _course_ you check every time you're using her bedroom as a bolthole."

"Well…" He tilted his head in thought. "Not every time."

Mary laughed. "Would you consider that the turning point of your relationship?"

"Yeah, I'd say so. Because when I asked her to come to work on Christmas, I think I realised for the first time just how alone she is. I mean, her mother lives in Glasgow with her stepfather, and her sister lives with her family in Vancouver. Despite Glasgow being a train or plane ride away, she's not close to her mother anymore, not really since they moved there. And due to her career's demands, as well as mine, she'd rather Skype with her sister rather than fly to Vancouver. So she really had no one to spend the holidays with. The Christmas party incident became even more awful for me. It's like…" He took a deep breath and pursed his lips as he searched for the right words. "It's like I started to see her in a different light—still not quite romantic, mind you—since she stood up to me in front of our friends. So I decided to try to be a little kinder to her. Of course, I failed miserably at times, but she remained my friend all the same. For which I'm immensely grateful."

"Is that why you asked her to help you fake your suicide?"

"Partly. Her access to lookalike corpses was only another reason; I wasn't actually lying about that. But it was also because I trust her with my life. She's always done everything in her power to keep me alive. While she hasn't had living, breathing patients in years, she has always patched me up well. So whenever I needed medical assistance during the two years I worked to dismantle Moriarty's network, I always demanded for her, even if my brother insisted that MI6's doctors were more than capable of treating me. Of course Mycroft defied my wishes most of the time, but he did either get her to me or take me to her when we both thought I was really dying."

"Yeah, but that's _after_ you asked her to help you. What about _before_?"

"Same thing. Even before I met John, I went to her whenever I was hurt and I couldn't take the pain or manage to treat myself. She even looked after me when I OD'd once." He cleared his throat and lowered his gaze. "Or twice. Since I met John, he's become my default physician. I prefer Molly, though, because she's gentler and kinder to me when she's treating me. She also feeds me and helps clean me up afterwards."

Mary smirked. "Is that when you started sleeping together?"

"No, not then," he replied with a shake of his head and a laugh. "Right after your funeral, actually." He smiled at his friend's shocked face. "We shared a cab, and she invited me in. I think she noticed how devastated I was and how much I blamed myself for your death, so she hugged me. The next moment, we were snogging! We didn't even make it to her bedroom. We did it on her sofa." Clearing his throat, he looked at everything but Mary. "Then I carried her to her bedroom, and we made love all over again."

"'Made love,' eh? So it's not just comfort sex, is it? At least the second time?"

He nodded. "Even the first one wasn't necessarily only because we were both grieving you. Because, while she was hugging me, I kept thinking, 'I don't know if I'd survive if I ever lost her'. I was so afraid of causing her demise like I caused yours that I couldn't stop myself from kissing her. At least, in my mind, she'd know how much she means to me. But when she asked me why I slept with her, all I could say was, 'I don't know.'" He lowered his eyes and shook his head.

"But then you slept with her again."

"Yep," he said, popping the 'p' as was his wont. "She didn't ask me why, so I was really hoping that she could deduce why from how tightly I held her or how I thoroughly got her off."

"I'm surprised you even knew how to pleasure a woman—or any other gender, for that matter." She only sighed when he threw her a slightly irritated glare. "She probably did, you know. I mean, she probably knew that you had— _have_ —some romantic feelings for her. But, sometimes, a woman needs to hear that you're not just after the physical or sexual release, that she means more to you. Especially when it's you and Molly, with your history."

He shifted in his seat and stared at the perpetually steaming teapot. "Right. I'll keep that in mind for when I speak to her about _that_ phone call."

"Are we ready to talk about that phone call now, Sherlock?"

He sighed. "I meant it."

"Even the first one? The one after she told you to say it like you meant it?"

He hummed in thought. "That one's a bit tricky. I had to say it, so she'd say it back. It obviously wasn't easy for me to say it, but I managed to get it out."

"But you repeated it."

"I did. Once I got it out the first time, all our interactions flitted through my mind, as if in a movie. I realised that it was _true_. Then it was like every cell in my body compelled me to say it again. But I didn't even have a moment to enjoy it, because she was running out of time to say it back."

Mary nodded. "Of course. So how did you feel when she said—or, more accurately, _whispered_ —it back?"

"Relief, because it meant she was safe and my sister wasn't going to detonate the explosives in her house. Also indescribable joy and debilitating fear at the same time."

"Then Eurus told you and John and Mycroft that Molly really wasn't in danger. I imagine that brought on so many emotions that they probably overwhelmed you. That's why you smashed the coffin into pieces with your barehands, correct?"

He gave Mary a brief nod. "Well, yeah. It was too much; I had to release it somehow. Also that coffin—and the words on the lid—reminded me of the anguish I felt at the mere thought of losing Molly. Also, the fact that my sister had discovered my best-kept secret scared me, not just because I didn't know then if she had worse things in store for Molly. She also used that secret to destroy me emotionally as she revealed it to Mycroft, who has probably known it before I even figured it out, and John, who has always thought that I loved Irene Adler. And, since I likely made her already awful day worse, the thought of Molly in severe emotional pain when I didn't even know if I would survive Sherrinford and be able to tell her that I meant it nearly killed me. I couldn't handle it, so I took it out on the coffin."

"So what are you going to do now? Are you just planning to pop round when she comes back from Glasgow? Will you be filling her house with red roses? Will—"

"She prefers tulips," he corrected.

Mary nodded and smirked at him. "All right then. As I was saying, will you be romancing and seducing the fuck out of her and screaming 'I love you' when you climax?" She raised a finger and shook her head. "No, scratch that. It'd probably be better if you whisper it like she did."

Her playful grin prompted him to groan and slump in his seat. He dragged his hands down his face and stared at the ceiling. "Look, I don't know, all right? I don't even know _if_ she's returning from Glasgow, let alone _when_! All I am sure of is that I need to talk to her and tell her my side of that phone call and anything else that John neglected to tell her. Then, if she so desires, we can move forward with our relationship, you know, make it a committed romantic one."

"And you're positive that she'll still want to date you?"

"Well, no, not completely positive. But it is the most logical conclusion to all this… drama. She loves me, and I love her. Thanks to Eurus, we've already established that. We've already had sex—multiple times, in fact––so we can't exactly go back to just being friends. Unless she's realised that she doesn't want to or can't be with me during her time in Glasgow, the only way we can move forward is by actually getting romantically entangled. But, don't worry, Mary. I promise to make an effort to be a good boyfriend," he said, making a face at the word, "to her, because she deserves something good after everything I've put her through."

Mary smiled sweetly and reached for his hand. She leant forward and looked him in the eye. "Then get the hell on with it," she whispered, tears glistening in her eyes.

"God, I've missed you so much." He grinned back and planted a kiss on her forehead.

She softly giggled. "You should. I'm an all-around kick-arse woman that had to die to save your arse and help you boys grow up." Scooting closer to him, she wrapped her arms round him and tightly squeezed. "I've missed you too."

"So what now?" he asked when she pulled away.

"You will get out of your head and rest. You've got busy days ahead. And don't be afraid to take a case in Scotland." With that, she winked and waved him goodbye.

In an instant, he found himself back in the corridor. Smiling to himself, he walked away from the Watsons' door.

* * *

Sherlock exhaled as he emerged from his Mind Palace. He looked round his bedroom before his gaze landed on the mobile phone next to him. He picked it up and replied to Molly's text.

 _ **I will be waiting.**_ **– SH**

With a sigh, he moved to sit on the edge of his bed and slipped into his shoes. _I'd need my favourite bolthole if I want to be fully rested tonight_ , he decided as he rose and put his phone in his trouser pocket _._ Then he grabbed a black wool and cashmere scarf from a drawer and knotted it around his neck before exiting his room. Pulling on his coat, he ran down the stairs and left the building.

 _I hope she hasn't washed her sheets_ , he thought as he got in the cab.

* * *

 _The montage during Mary's monologue at the end of the episode clearly showed that the sitting room wasn't completely destroyed. Singed maybe, but the floor was intact. If anyone had fixed the floor, then it wouldn't have been so messy, would it?_

 _If Sherlock can dream up an entire Victorian AU fanfic in his Mind Palace, then his conversations with Molly and Mary are totally possible._

 _I played around with a few names for the sign on Molly's room in his Mind Palace, but I just ultimately decided to use her name. The fact that Sherlock likes to say her full name instead of only her first name was a massive factor in this decision._

 _Y'all will find out more about John and Molly texting about Sherrinford in the next chapter._

 _I've checked transcripts of ASiB and subsequent episodes, and I discovered that Sherlock never refers to Irene Adler by just her first name. It's either her full name (like with Molly), 'Miss Adler,' or the Woman (not counting she/her pronouns). Interesting, isn't it?_

 _Hope y'all liked this chapter!_


	3. Chapter 3

**HIS CONSTANT**

 **25 January 2018**

 **A/N: Oops!... I did it again! I made y'all wait three months for an update again! Sorry about that. My brain hadn't been cooperating with my desire to finish this chapter. But I hope this long-ass update makes up for the long wait!**

 **I can't decide between Brenda Blethyn and Julie Walters as model/reference for Molly's mother, so feel free to choose one or, hell, mash them up while you're reading this super lengthy talk between the two women. Hell, y'all can even imagine her as a different actress if y'all want.**

 **I don't have breast cancer (although I do have risk factors) and I've never had a cat or a Westie, so I relied a lot on the internet. And I mean a lot. So please chalk up inconsistencies and glaring mistakes to the fact that my brain sucks.**

 **This chapter is also where both _Chewing the Fat, Woman to Woman_ and _Babysitting_ are referenced quite a bit. The latter is also why I'm upping the rating to  Mature due to a little bit of naughty reminiscing.**

 **I also wrote a bunch of swear words in this chapter, so fair warning to anyone that's uncomfortable with swearing. There's also mention of past Adlock here, but it's so little that y'all may not even notice it. But I just want to warn y'all in case y'all don't like that pairing.**

* * *

Molly softly giggled as she followed her mother's West Highland White Terrier, Clea, to the kitchen. Through the glass pane in the door to the conservatory, she could see her mother reading _The Breast Cancer Survival Manual_ on the small sofa while Toby lay on her lap. Pausing to wash her hands, she glanced at Clea, who was lapping up water from her non-spill steel bowl, and smiled at the thought of getting a dog once Toby had gone to the rainbow bridge.

 _Or even before then_ , Mary's voice in her head pointed out. _I bet Sherlock would spoil the dog rotten if you had one._

She rolled her eyes, even though no humans could see her. "Shut up," she muttered to herself as she wiped her hands on a tea towel. Giggling at the excited wagging of Clea's tail, she finally opened the door and followed the dog into the conservatory.

Julie looked up from her book and smiled at her. "Hey, honey." Then she petted Clea and asked the dog if she enjoyed her long walk.

Toby jumped off her mother's lap while she was distracted by the dog and ran towards Molly. He rubbed his face against her jeans and miaowed until she bent down to pet him. He started pawing at her rainbow jumper and his claws snagged its hem. He gave her a series of indignant miaows as she gently pulled her paws away from her jumper. Once pacified by a few scratches behind his ear, he lay down in front of the French doors and resumed his morning snooze.

She kissed her mother on the cheek before taking a seat on the other end of the sofa. "How are you feeling today, Marmee?" she asked, lifting Clea from the floor and setting her down between them.

Julie gave her a small smile as she scratched behind Clea's ear. "I'm actually feeling much better today, thanks. There was a bit of blood just after you and Clea left, but the pain is still tolerable. And I haven't cried for the past several nights." Grinning, she set the book next to her favourite personalised butterfly mug on the small wooden table next to the sofa. "Do you want a cuppa?" she asked as she lifted the mug to her lips.

She shook her head, her ponytail swishing behind her. "That's all right. I just had coffee at the KHCC with a uni friend of mine, which is why we took a bit long. Perhaps a little later?"

She nodded before taking a sip of her tea. "Is everything OK, Molly?"

She looked up at her mother, hoping that she could not read her mind. She had been thinking about a certain consulting detective during her walk with Clea, but she was not quite ready to discuss him with her mother yet. She cleared her throat. "Y-yeah, of course. Why do you ask?"

Shrugging, she set her mug back down on the table. "Well, for one thing, you've been calling me 'Marmee' since you got here. If I remember correctly, you stopped calling me that after you turned 13 and, since then, you only call me that when you're depressed or upset or when you want something so badly. Also, you wouldn't be going to therapy if everything is all right. And you've been actively avoiding the subject of why you decided to spend a couple of weeks with us. Thank goodness, I was wide awake when you rang me from the train in the middle of the night. Otherwise, Vincent and I would have been even less prepared for your sudden visit."

"It's not that sudden!" she protested. "I said I'd take some time off work to be with you after you told me about the lump in your breast, didn't I? I really wanted to offer, you know, additional emotional support, especially since your appointment with the specialist coincided with Vincent's book tour. I have loads of banked time anyway."

"As if this is like your spontaneous and extended holiday in Greece. Weren't you there for, what, a couple of months?" At her nod, Julie continued. "You came back with a glorious tan and an acclaimed paper! And you've never spent more than a weekend with me and Vincent since we got married. Yet you've been here for _three weeks_." She reached for her hand and squeezed it. "While I greatly appreciate the extra physical and emotional support, I don't need to be Sherlock Holmes to figure out that you're not just here for me."

Her chest tightened at the mention of his name. She suppressed a shudder as his second 'I love you' rang in her mind. She shut her eyes and desperately tried not to think about the distress in his voice when he pleaded with her to say it back.

"Molly?"

She opened her eyes to her mother leaning forward and staring at her with a worried expression.

Betty, her older sister, had always been her confidante, mostly because they had been thick as thieves since they were little. But her mother had never betrayed her trust and usually gave her good advice when she confided in her, and now Molly considered telling her about Sherlock and the phone call.

"It's that Sherlock Holmes, isn't it?" When she said nothing, her mother leant back and scratched Clea behind her ear. "He's your friend, right?"

"Y-yeah, he's my friend. We're friends," she confirmed with a nonchalant shrug.

"But you've been in love with him for a long time, haven't you?"

Her jaw dropped. "How did you––"

Julie's face and voice hardened. "Betty told me he's been stringing you along, encouraging your feelings for him without ever returning them." She glanced at her and rolled her eyes at her scowl. "Oh, don't be mad at your sister. She casually mentioned that you're the _only_ pathologist he works with at Barts, so I made her tell me everything. Why you couldn't tell me about him is beyond me."

"Well, there's nothing much to tell," she replied with another shrug of her shoulders. "We often work together, and––"

"Meaning?"

She stared at her mother. "Wh-which means I do the postmortem and lab work for most of his cases, he occasionally helps me out with my patients or with my papers, we share an intense love of science and Rosie Watson (among others), and we're friends." She ignored the voice–– _his_ voice––in her head accusing her of lying to herself and to her mother.

 _Come on, Molly_ , Mary's voice chimed in. _You know damn well that, since I died, the term 'friends' is no longer accurate when it comes to you and Sherlock. Hell, it was slightly inaccurate when I was still alive. I mean,_ I _know that, and I'm dead!_

Ignoring Mary's voice, she heaved a heavy, frustrated sigh. "Y-yes, I've loved him for years, but friendship is all he could give me, so that's all we are. Plus he's…" She trailed off as his second 'I love you' crossed her mind again.

"What? Is he gay? Are the rumours about him and Dr Watson true?"

She snorted in laughter. "No, no. Contrary to what his fans and the tabloids believe, he and John aren't romantically or sexually involved. They really are just best mates. I'm not exactly sure what his sexual orientation is, but I don't think he's gay." To her dismay, her mind flashed back to the last time they made love. _Oh, for fuck's sake_ , she inwardly groaned with an outward shook her head to get rid of the memories with which her mind was torturing her. "It's complicated, Mum," she finally answered as she played with the hem of her jumper––the same one that she was wearing on the day of Sherlock's phone call.

"Is that why you ran away from London?"

 _I can practically hear Mary cackling from the afterlife._ "You could say that," she admitted with a deep sigh.

"You know, because you're friends with him, I followed the coverage of the Moriarty trial and of his return from the dead on the telly, in the papers, and on those blogs. He's attractive in a dark, mysterious, posh, public-school-educated arsehole genius way, I can tell you that." She winked, prompting Molly to giggle softly. "Did he go to Oxford or to Cambridge?"

"He got his MChem from Oxford."

"Oh. Chemistry, eh?" Julie gave a contemplative nod. "Anyway, his detective work seems to pit him against common criminals and powerful malefactors alike. I bet that makes his friends and family targets for his enemies."

She hummed in thought, as a small voice in her head wondered if she had ever been targeted by Sherlock's enemies because of her association with him. "I'm not sure about his family. But, yeah, John Watson's life has been threatened several times since they met."

Julie nodded. "Probably even more times than you know."

"I wouldn't be surprised if you were right," she answered with a slight shrug. She folded her arms across her chest. "But where exactly are you going with this?"

"Is it possible that Sherlock actually loves you back, but he chose not to act on his feelings to protect you?"

She stared at her mother, the first part of her question making her heart pound. _Sherlock didn't contact my mother, did he?_ She furrowed her brows as she considered the latter part. "No, it can't be," she replied with a shake of her head.

"Well, why not? It's completely possible. Did he tell you otherwise?"

She shifted in her seat. "No, of course not. I mean, I don't remember him ever rejecting me outright. But even if that were true, he would have never told me that we can't be together for my protection or-or something to that effect. He's not really the kind of bloke that tells you exactly how he feels about you, unless your life is in danger. But even then, he has this, um, unique way of expressing his feelings that takes me a minute to decipher." Narrowing her eyes at her mother, she wondered for a moment if Mary Watson's spirit had possessed her.

"You know, from what Betty told me, he seems to keep you pretty close. For instance, he has made you cancel your dates so you could help him in the lab or morgue more than a few times. That's… oddly possessive, don't you think? And aren't you both godparents of your friends' baby?"

"I highly doubt he had anything to do with us being Rosie's godparents," she replied. "And we're not her only godparents."

Julie good-naturedly rolled her eyes. "Regardless, he does care about you. I think he may even fancy you. Did I ever mention that your sister and I were betting on whether or not he'd do something to break you two up and end your engagement!" She laughed and shrugged her shoulders. "I mean, Tom was nice, but even _I_ thought he was just a substitute for the one you truly love. And, just so you know, Betty won the bet," she added in response to the question that was just beginning to form in her mind.

She could feel her cheeks burning, which made her mother smirk. "That explains your trip to Vancouver last summer." She cleared her throat. "Were you waiting for me to realise that?"

"Oh, I had a gut feeling that you'd known it all along, even if you tried to deny it. I _was_ waiting for you to get tired of the lies you kept telling yourself and everybody else." Julie reached for her arm and squeezed it. "Your heart has always belonged to Sherlock Holmes, honey. And I have this feeling that he'd gladly give you his if you only asked."

Molly stared at her mother and swallowed, just as the image of her and Sherlock standing in the entrance hall of Mr Howard Shilcott's building appeared in her mind. "When Sherlock came back to London after being legally dead for two years, he asked me to assist him in solving cases as, uh, a way to thank me for my help in…" She paused to clear her throat. "Never mind that," she continued with a nervous laugh, prompting her mother to raise her eyebrow. "Anyway, at the end of that day, we had, uh, a little talk in the hallway of a client's building. He said some lovely things before he congratulated me on my engagement with Tom. Then he––"

"Told you he loved you?"

She shook her head and fought the urge to bang her head against the wall, just so she did not have to remember him saying the second 'I love you' ever again. "Nope, but he said he hoped I'd be very happy and that I deserved it, while he had this incredibly bittersweet look on his face. I mean, he was smiling at me, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. He looked…" She trailed off as she searched for an accurate word to describe him. "It might just be me, but he looked sad and… and heartbroken? Yeah, heartbroken, even if he tried to hide it with that tender smile." She took a deep breath. "And then he kissed me on the cheek." She shrugged her shoulders and smiled, which she was sure did not quite reach _her_ eyes.

Julie gasped before laughing. "I'm surprised you didn't dump Tom right then and there. If that were me, I would have grabbed him when he pulled away and snogged the daylights out of him!"

"Marmee!" But Molly was laughing too. Of course her mother had no idea that a huge part of her had wanted to do that very same thing that late afternoon. Since then, she had spent so many nights (and some days) imagining what would have happened if she had done that. _Maybe that phone call wouldn't have been so agonising_ , she thought, which immediately sobered her.

She abruptly stood and reached for her mother's empty mug. "Um, I need a cuppa after all. How about I make you another?"

Julie knitted her eyebrows together. "Oh, all right. Thanks, honey."

While making tea in the kitchen, she contemplated how much she should tell her mother. She ran through everything that John told her via their lengthy text conversation to make sure that she would remember the most important points as well as edit out the ones that Mycroft and Sherlock would rather keep secret. _I just hope she doesn't ask if I'm shagging Sherlock._

She carried the steaming mugs of tea back to the conservatory and then handed one to her mother. She returned to her spot, scratching behind Clea's ear. She raised the mug to her lips but set it down on the ledge when her mother winced while placing her own mug on the small table with trembling hands. "Can you rate the pain?" she asked as she squeezed her mother's free hand.

Julie's face scrunched up. "Uh, a-a six? Or seven?" Rapidly breathing, she freed her left hand from Molly's grasp and massaged the side of her breast.

"I'll get your pain meds." She had begun to rise from the sofa when her mother's right hand on her arm and the vigorous shake of her head made her sit back down.

"No, no, no. It-it's fine. I've endured worse." She grimaced in pain for a few more moments. Then she took several deep breaths and flashed Molly a thin smile. "I-I'm all right," she reassured her in a weak voice. "Just… just give me a minute."

Molly lifted Clea, who was staring at Julie while softly whining and panting in concern, and set her down on the floor. She then scooted closer to her mother, whispering her apologies as she wrapped an arm round her shoulder, pulled her close, and clutched her hand with her free hand. "You're OK… I'm here, Marmee," she whispered. She carefully lay her mother's head on her shoulder and gave the top of her head a light kiss. She hated seeing her mother hurting, physically or otherwise, especially when she could do nothing to take away her pain. "Nothing yet from the specialist?" she asked in a quiet voice, releasing her hand long enough to gently wipe her mother's errant tears with her thumb.

"No, nothing yet," she replied with a shake of her head. "It's only been a week."

A couple of minutes later, Julie raised her head from her shoulder and sat back, laying her head on the backrest. "Oh, God, that was intense." Pulling her hand free, she reached for her mug and sipped from it. She closed her eyes and sighed as she savoured the comforting beverage. She then reopened her eyes and raised her head to give her a tiny smile. "See? I'm OK now."

Narrowing her eyes at her mother, Molly nodded. "Are you sure?"

Julie exhaled and gave her another thin smile. "Yeah, of course."

Molly sighed in relief. She slowly removed her arm from her mother's shoulder. Keeping an eye on her, Molly also took her mug and drank some tea. After setting her mug back down on the ledge, she took a deep breath. "So… where were we?"

"You were about to tell me if you managed to snog Sherlock Holmes senseless after all." She chuckled at Molly's raised eyebrow. "Or you could tell me exactly why you ran away from London."

So Molly told her mother about Eurus and recounted what the little girl had done to little Victor Trevor a few decades ago, which horrified her mother. She also told her that a young Sherlock was taught to erase his sister's existence from his mind and to rewrite Victor's murder into something slightly less traumatic after little Eurus burnt down their ancestral home and was sent away to a facility.

She also gave her a brief summary of Eurus's first two tasks in Sherrinford, making sure to mention that five people died, before getting to the coffin room and her side of the phone call. Recalling John's remarks about Sherlock rarely taking his eyes off the screen and barely keeping his emotions in check, she shared them with her mother. She told her of how heartbroken she was when he reluctantly uttered the first 'I love you,' thinking that he did not even bother to be convincing.

"I-I thought that was it," she continued with a sad smile and a shrug. "I was done. I, uh, I was done with him. I couldn't…" She trailed off with a sigh and fought the urge to break down in tears. "I couldn't take it anymore. I was already thinking of taking a break from Barts and London."

"Which you did anyway."

Molly nodded. "I was thinking, 'That was the last straw.'" She took a deep breath. "But then he said it again. He repeated the 'I love you'. It sounded so… real, so genuine, completely different and not so unsure like the first time he said it. It stunned me so much that I had to look at my phone, as if I could see his face after he repeated it. He was definitely convincing then!" she remarked with a mirthless laugh.

Her mother hummed and knitted her eyebrows in thought. "Well, since you're here and talking to me, you obviously said it back."

"Of course I did. How could I not? Especially after that second 'I love you'? But I was so overcome with emotion so I only managed to whisper it back." She sighed. "Then he just hung up. He didn't even say goodbye."

"What?" Julie stared at her. "But do you believe him? That he truly loves you?"

"Yeah, yeah, I do," she replied in a quiet but sure voice. "I actually do. And that's the scary thing."

"And is that when you decided to run away?"

"Well, yes. After a few hours of crying and drinking wine and replaying the entire phone conversation over and over in my mind and overanalysing every second of the phone call, I decided that it'd be best for me to get out of London for a couple of weeks," she admitted. "I'd been here for two days when I received a text from John. Um, he was asking how and where I was. I-I don't suppose Sherlock showed him my text, but John might have figured it out. I don't know. But I at least wanted to assure John and Rosie that I'm all right and safe, so I texted him back. I also asked him to explain what the phone call was for. It took us several hours of texting back and forth, but he eventually told me everything he could about what had happened, including the fact that Sherlock smashed the coffin with his _bare_ _hands_."

"Wow, that must have hurt! I guess he took it out on the coffin, eh?" Julie raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, apparently. Sherlock's emotions must have overwhelmed him," she added in a quiet voice as if to herself.

"I bet. But, um, wouldn't it be easier to write everything in an email rather than a series of texts?"

"Perhaps," she agreed with a nod. "But I doubt he had the energy to write it out in an email, especially, you know, with him being a single father of a baby and nearly drowning in a well." She then summarised the events in Musgrave Hall. "Plus he's the hunt-and-peck type of bloke when he's typing on a physical keyboard. John's a bit better on his phone's keyboard, so texting is probably easier."

Her mother shifted in her seat and drained her tea. "OK, so did your friends find the explosives in your house? I presume at least one of them has a spare key or got one from your neighbour?"

She took a deep breath before answering. "That's just the thing, Mum: there weren't actually any explosives."

Her eyes grew as wide as saucers. "What?! So the threat was _fake_?!"

"Yep! John said that, on Mycroft and Sherlock's separate requests, DI Lestrade came by with a bunch of bomb disposal officers to make sure and, thankfully, they found nothing. Whew!" She wiped non-existent sweat off her forehead.

"But how could Sherlock let you believe that you were in mortal danger? What a cruel, cruel man!" She shook her head in disapproval.

"He didn't know that it was fake. Neither did John and Mycroft. Only his sister knew and apparently even taunted Sherlock about it." She glanced at their pets, who were now lying side by side in front of the French doors, and hummed in thought. "John did say that Eurus looked affected by the phone call. Like, she looked emotional and even took a moment to answer Sherlock." She shrugged, wishing now that she had accepted Mycroft's offer (which she received within two hours of replying to John's text) to send her a copy of the coffin room footage as well as a copy of the security footage inside the governor's office. "Honestly, I don't know anymore."

"Did Sherlock not call or text you after all that?"

"Just once… even though I texted him and asked him not to contact me or seek me out."

"Margaret Elizabeth Julianne Hooper!"

She could not help but giggle at her mother's horrified tone and the frustration in her eyes. "Marmee, I have all the right in the world to tell him that! I've been in love with him for _years_ , and he didn't even consider me a friend until, like, a few years ago. Then, in one harrowing phone call during a truly awful day, I found out that my unrequited love isn't so unrequited after all? Well, of _course_ , I need time to process that!"

Julie tilted her head and furrowed her brows. "OK, I'll give you that. But what if he wanted to talk to you after he survived that ordeal?" She stared at Molly. "He _did_ survive, right?"

Frowning, she thought of John's questions at the end of his recount of the events at Sherrinford and Musgrave Hall:

 _What if Sherlock hadn't been able to help Eurus? What if she'd decided to kill him right after I drowned?_

She shut her eyes for a moment and tried to shake off the idea. She opened her eyes again to her mother's patient stare. "Yeah, yeah, of course he survived. It would've been all over the news if he didn't."

"Maybe not. I mean, didn't he fake his death?" At her nod, Julie continued. "Well, he must have had someone powerful to help him do that. Could be MI5 or MI6? This Moriarty was a criminal mastermind after all, so he must have had connections all over the world. Therefore, both spy agencies could have been involved. Didn't you say once that Sherlock's brother works for the government? Mycroft, correct? So his brother could definitely…" Her mother trailed off and knitted her brows together when she saw Molly's raised eyebrow. "What?"

"You're not a secret spy or assassin, are you, Marmee?"

"What?" She laughed out loud, the sound of which warmed Molly's heart. "No, of course not! I just read a lot of books as a creative writing professor, silly. I also watch a lot of crime and legal procedural programmes. Have you seen _Castle_ , the one about the mystery writer and the NYPD detective? That was really good, but the writers mucked up the last series. I mean, they ruined a perfectly good marriage for unnecessary drama!" She tsk-tsked, to Molly's amusement. "But I'm right, aren't I?"

Molly only shrugged and mimed zipping up her lips.

Julie turned to Clea, who was now chomping on a large, squeaky plush toy shark, and Toby, who was cleaning himself. "I'm definitely right then."

Clea barked as she stared at them before resuming her attack on the toy shark. Toby, on the other hand, let out a soft miaow without even a glance towards them and began licking his front paw.

Molly cleared her throat. "Anyway, back to the man I love, who—plot twist!—loves me back…"

"Right, right." Julie sat back and folded her arms across her chest. "I understand taking a day or a week to process what happened during the phone call. To be honest, I would've done the same thing. But I would've gone to, say, Hawaii to figure things out, preferably with a cocktail in my hand the whole time. I wouldn't have gone to my (most likely) cancer-ridden mother to distract myself for three weeks." She narrowed her eyes at Molly. "Unless…"

 _Oh, shit. Here we go_ , she thought, worrying her bottom lip.

Julie smirked. "You've been shagging Sherlock Holmes, haven't you?"

Molly's hands flew to cover her burning face. "Oh, my God," she muttered amidst her mother's laugh.

" _There's_ the final piece in the puzzle! Is he the type of man who gets his partner off just fine but is shit when it comes to emotions and romance?"

She reluctantly and slowly lowered her hands to her lap. "W-well, he's improved so much when it comes to expressing emotions. But he's never been the romantic type. I honestly don't think he's dated anyone _ever_."

"At least he's good in bed, just like the papers and gossip blogs say."

"Oh, my God!" She was certain that her entire face was crimson now. She drained her cold tea to stall. She cleared her throat as she set her mug back down on the ledge. "Look, Sherlock is different. And I love him for who he is, flaws and all; I truly do. And, yeah, quite frankly, he's the best sex I've ever had. But sometimes a girl would love to hear why a bloke started to sleep with her, you know? I asked him a couple of times, but he either couldn't or wouldn't tell me why. Which is frustrating, to say the least!" She took a deep breath and shifted in the sofa, pulling her legs underneath her.

"I know you two have known each other for several years. And you've loved him for nearly as long. But when did you start sleeping together?"

"After our friend Mary's funeral." Her heart ached at the memory of the pain in John's eyes as Rosie cried uncontrollably, as if she knew that Mary was gone. Fighting the urge to cry, she remembered standing next to Sherlock, who could barely hide the guilt and devastation in his eyes, and momentarily being stunned by the feel of his leather-clad fingers interlacing with her own.

Julie's fingers closed around hers as she gave her an encouraging smile.

"He, uh, offered to share a cab back to my flat. I-I think he needed some warmth and comfort after that heartbreaking funeral. He looked so fucking broken, Mum, and that made me embrace him. I-I just wanted to offer some comfort, even though a simple hug would never change the fact that Mary was gone. I don't even know how it happened but, next thing I knew, we were kissing! And I suppose we were so overcome with grief and-and lust, I guess, that we had our first time on my sofa."

"Then what? Did he just, I don't know, up and leave?"

Smiling softly, she shook her head. "No." Her smile widened a little as she stared at her mother's surprised expression. "He carried me up to my bedroom and made love to me."

Her mother giggled. "I bet that happened many, many more times, eh?" she teased with a playful wink.

Blushing and giggling, she recalled how, two weeks after she babysat him on his birthday, he fulfilled his promise to fuck her hard up against the door in her front hallway. She began throbbing as she remembered all the delicious sex that followed that passionate coupling. _God, we were insatiable that night_ , she mused. It was also the first time that he cooked her breakfast before he left to work a case. _Should've known it'd be the last time we'd be together that way_ , she bitterly thought.

She cleared her throat. "Like I said, he's not the romantic type. I wasn't even completely sure he was a sexual being until we started shagging. I mean, he's maybe had sex with one other woman in 20 years or so? Which probably explains his rustiness in the beginning. Anyway, before he even left the next morning, I was already wondering why he suddenly started sleeping with me. This crack theory that he must have some kind of feelings towards me, that he may be falling for me, formed in my brain. I mean, I've known him long enough and well enough to know that there's got to be a huge reason for him to have sex with me."

"It can't be just comfort sex, can it?"

"Yeah. Are-are we a couple now? Are we friends with benefits? I don't know. Because he's never said anything––even in the unique way he does things––and his behaviour towards me in public and in private hasn't changed at all. The only thing that really changed was that we now shagged. So I resigned myself to the fact that it's just sex, even though I still kind of hoped that he's also romantically attracted to me. I-I mean, I know I matter to him and we're friends. But, to be honest, we've gone through so much for our relationship just to be essentially friends with benefits."

"Then he rang you out of the blue, and you two were forced to declare yourselves to each other." Julie narrowed her eyes as Molly nodded. "You aren't pregnant, are you?"

She gave a short laugh as she shook her head. "No, no. For a minute there, though, I thought I was, because my period was a bit late. But, thankfully, I got it last week. So, no, I'm not pregnant with Sherlock Holmes's baby."

"Is that why you fled London? Because you're afraid that he wouldn't want children–– _your_ children?"

"I don't know. I mean, although he's amazing with Rosie, our goddaughter, I don't know how he feels about having his own children with-with me or with anyone else. I mean, the topic has never come up. It's not part of the pillow talk, you know?"

"Your children would be beautiful and clever though," Julie assured her with a smile.

Molly sighed. "It's not just the pregnancy scare though. I've been dealing with a lot for the past few months. And he happened to phone on a really awful day, one of the worse days."

"How do you mean?" Julie leant forward.

"First, the day before he phoned, I found out that his flat blew up. Well, thankfully, no one was hurt and most of the damage was contained in the front room. But he wasn't answering his phone and he wasn't texting me back, so I was worried sick.

"On that same day, I did the postmortem for a four-month-old baby and his dad, who were struck by the getaway car of a group that had just pulled a jewellery heist. And the baby's mum and even his big sister were absolutely devastated. You know how it breaks my heart every time I have to do a postmortem on little children, and this one hit me hard. I hadn't gotten over it even after 16 hours.

"Then Vincent emailed me regarding your specialist appointment. He's been so worried, cos you'd been crying most nights. And, with his two-week book tour, he was a bit scared that being home alone would send you deeper into depression. So he asked me to visit you while he's away. And he's not the only one worried about you; Betty and I have been Skyping a lot since you told us that you'd found a lump in your breast. But, since Andi was about to have her bone marrow transplant, I promised Betty that I'll take care of you."

Her mother smiled sweetly. "And you have done wonderfully, if I may say so."

"Aww, thanks. By the way, if you must know, you are the second biggest reason I decided to hop on a train to Glasgow."

"Pity I couldn't be _the_ biggest reason you're here." She stuck a tongue at Molly before giggling. "Anything else? You've only given me three reasons for fleeing London."

"Toby hasn't been eating much, so he's lost a bit of weight. As you've probably noticed, he's been peeing so much." She glanced at her dozing pet. "Today is a relatively good day. But it might be diabetes. Um, I've been meaning to take him to the vet, but things have been a bit overwhelming."

"I didn't know the poor baby hasn't been well," she remarked as she stared at Toby.

"I've been reading about feline diabetes, and they say he still could have a normal lifespan if the diabetes is diagnosed early and if he's given the proper diet and treatment. So taking him to the vet would be the first order of business when we get back to London."

"Anything else?" Julie asked in a gentle voice.

"I've also been missing Mary Watson. And I, uh, I was looking after Rosie a few days before the dreaded phone call, and she kept saying, 'Mama,' and looking at me. Like, I may be one of her godmothers, but I cannot ever replace Mary. And her death still hurts. I find myself wishing that she had been able to save Sherlock without sacrificing her life. I really, really liked her, and I wish we had known each other longer and better. I mean, we hadn't known each other very long. In fact, we'd only started to get closer after she asked me to be Rosie's godmother. We could've been best friends, with each other and Mrs Hudson. We never even got to start our monthly tea and gossip party _and_ my self-defence training sessions before she died." Suddenly overcome with grief, she sniffled as tears welled up in her eyes.

"Also, my last conversation with Sherlock about his drug addiction still worries me. He maintains that he doesn't see a problem with using drugs and his addiction for a case if it helps him solve it. Yes, he's promised not to actually kill himself. But what if the case or the bad guy is harder to crack than he expected? What if he's forced to use more drugs to prove himself or-or something? What if he overdoses again and even I can't save him? I don't want him to die!"

Julie reached for her arm and squeezed it. "Perhaps you could be the reason he gets clean for good again?"

"God, I hope so. But I know it's unrealistic. Addiction is a lifelong condition, and he's already relapsed twice in the same number of years. I'll be with him and I'll help him, whether as a friend or his girlfriend. But what if I do get pregnant? What if our child still isn't enough reason for him not to use drugs for a case?"

"I'm sorry I can't help you much there, honey. All you can really do is be there for him, like you said, and do what you can to make sure he doesn't even think of touching drugs. It's still up to him though."

"I know," she admitted with a deep sigh. "Now, after John told me everything, I'm also worried that he'd turn to drugs again after he was basically retraumatised because of his sister's twisted experiment. I can only imagine what he was feeling when the ordeal was finally over. But what about the immediate aftermath? John says he's doing better than he expected, especially under the circumstances. But who knows how many times he's been tempted and how close he's come to giving in and turning his kitchen into a makeshift meth lab again?"

"Let's hope solving crimes, performing scientific experiments, looking after your goddaughter, and healing in much healthier ways while waiting for you to come back and talk to him about the phone call are enough to distract him from his addictive urges." She flashed Molly a sympathetic grin as she squeezed her hand.

She smiled back. "I hope so."

Her mother took a deep breath. "OK, I get all that. But you could have gone back to London already. Vincent is back from his book tour, even if he's already researching for his next book. Or you could have texted or rang or, hell, even emailed him, you know, just to assure him that you're all right But you––"

"John could've done that already."

"But you don't know for sure. John might have neglected to tell him; he's a single dad with a baby daughter and a best friend as well as multiple patients to look after. Or Sherlock may have been too busy in the aftermath of all these revelations that he hasn't had time to ask John about you. Sherlock may not even know that John had reached out to you."

She sighed. "You're probably right. But he could have also deduced it, since John can be incredibly transparent."

"Perhaps. But, seriously, you could have spoken with Sherlock already and could have resolved all this uncertainty regarding your feelings, his feelings, and his drug addiction. So why haven't you? Why are you still here?"

She considered her mother's words. "I'm scared," she replied at length. "I'm scared that, after everything that happened in Sherrinford and their ancestral home, he decides that romantic entanglements aren't for him after all. I'm scared that, despite the fact that he loves me––truly loves me, because I heard it in his voice––and I love him, he still won't want to be in a committed relationship with _me_. Considering that Eurus threatened my life, no matter how fake it was, I wouldn't be surprised if that's what's happened."

"Or he's decided that life is too short to be afraid of romantic relationships, especially if it's with someone like you. I hope that, after some extensive therapy for his childhood trauma, he decides that he's ready to be completely romantically involved with you. But you can't know for sure until you go back to London and face him. Wouldn't you rather know exactly how to move forward with Sherlock?"

"I do. But I don't think my heart can bear it if he decides he doesn't want to be in a romantic relationship with me while resuming our sexual relationship. I might have to finish my specialist registrar training elsewhere."

"Then that's what you do," her mother said, squeezing her hand again. "But I don't think he's that much of an idiot. You're going to have to tell me some more about your history with Sherlock later. But, from what you've told me so far, I think he truly loves you back. And I think––and I hope––he'd at least try to give you what you want. Which is what exactly?"

"I want to be in a loving, committed, and healthy romantic relationship with Sherlock Holmes. But if he's not ready for that kind of relationship and-and he can only give me his friendship, at least for now, then I'll take that. I can't keep having sex with him without dating him though."

"All right," she responded with a nod. "Do remember to tell him that when you see him again, yeah?"

She smiled. "Will do, Marmee."

Julie slowly stood up, waving off her offer to help. Once she was upright, she gathered her book and her mug, carrying the former in the crook of her right arm and the latter in her hand, before beaming down at her. "I'm hungry. Shall we make lunch? We have time before your therapy session this afternoon, don't we?" She extended her free hand towards her.

"Yeah, yeah, absolutely," Molly replied as she rose from the sofa and grabbed her mug. She took her mother's hand and walked towards the door to the kitchen with her.

But, as soon as Julie opened the door, Toby chased Clea inside, nearly knocking them over.

"Hey! What the fuck is wrong with you two?" Molly admonished them, even as their pets ran into the dining room. Shaking her head, she turned to her mother. "Marmee, are you all right?"

Julie laughed. "Yeah, yeah, of course. They're probably just bored in the conservatory." She wrapped her free arm round Molly's shoulders and guided her inside. "Say, does Sherlock have a sweet tooth?"

* * *

 _I found a bungalow on Kirkintilloch Road in Glasgow with a lovely little kitchen and conservatory on Rightmove, so I used it for the setting. Of course I made some adjustments to accommodate the dog. The property is still on the market, so it feels icky to post photos of the kitchen and the conservatory. But if anyone is looking for a nice little period bungalow in Glasgow, feel free to check out the link at the bottom of the corresponding work on AO3 (my pseudonym there is LadySolitaire83)._

 _Also, KHCC stands for Kirkintilloch Health & Care Centre. I've never been there and there are only a few photos of the interior, but there must be a cafeteria of some kind in there, right? Even if there isn't, let's just imagine that there's one. *_shrugs _*_

 _Also, as y'all can probably guess, Molly loved_ Little Women _(among others) so much when she was a kid that she started calling her mother 'Marmee'. The previous drafts actually had way more instances of this affectionate name, but I decided to minimize it. It just felt too much._

 _The 'Julianne' from Molly's full name came from Dr. Julia Ogden from_ Murdoch Mysteries _, by the way._

 _Lastly, I got the bulk of the breast cancer stuff from_ _Cancer Research UK_ _,_ _, and_ _BC Cancer_ _._

 _Hope y'all liked this chapter!_


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